


D.H. + S.S.

by Siriusstuff



Series: Heart Shaped Box [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at Humor, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Glimpse Of The Future, High School Student Derek, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, brief mentions of virginity loss, high school romance, please read top note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high school romance where even the Sheriff's happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.H. + S.S.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Heart Shaped Box. I made a two-fic series with it. This ficlet is the second part and conclusion of the series.
> 
> Despite Derek's and Stiles's initials in the title and the references to their initials in the fic, please be aware this story has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the initials scene from the episode in season five in canon. I only know such a scene exists; I've never seen it.

"Why, yes, Scott, I _am_ dating Derek Hale," Stiles proclaimed.

"Stiles," Scott began, his tone of voice suggesting worry about his best friend’s mental health, "I asked if I could look at your biology notes!"

"Biology, Scott? Let me tell you about biology," Stiles rhapsodized, stepping closer to his best friend to tap softly on his chest while intoning: "There’s no better biology teacher than _hands-on experience_."

" _Stiles, what_ are you talking about!"

"I’m talking about _anatomy._ —It’s a… a beautiful thing…" Stiles dreamily sighed.

"The quiz this afternoon—!" Scott fretted, watching as Stiles only turned to his open locker and shuffled through its contents. "I didn’t study! Can I see your notebook? Did you take no—"

"Take whatever you need, pal o’ mine," Stiles answered, walking from his locker with what looked like a sketch pad in his hand. "And _relax_."

Bewildered, Scott stared as Stiles headed towards the gymnasium.

"Aren’t you coming to study hall? Stiles?— _Stiles!_ "

"Sounds great, bro!" Stiles called back, then down the long corridor he continued making his way till Scott lost sight of him in the crowd.

Stiles knew only the weather and climate of California. Even in northern California late winter was not like it was in other parts of the country where gray, cold, snowy, dismal conditions persisted.

Still, he could appreciate a beautiful day at February’s end.

Stiles deeply inhaled mild morning air, the sky a pale blue, flecked with cottony clouds. Somewhere flowers must be blooming too. Stiles was sure he smelled their fragrance in the air.

No, he was _not_ imagining it.

On the bleachers alongside the playing field second period boys’ gym class was perched. Coach Finstock was taking attendance between brief orations from inspiring speeches out of sci-fi flics.

_Derek_ was in second period gym class.

Though keeping his distance till activity started, Stiles spotted Derek, the back of him, in the top row. When Coach gave the word some boys went onto the field, others started running laps, Derek among the latter.

Stiles took the long way around, to avoid Finstock’s notice, and climbed to the very top of the bleachers at the far end.

He opened his pad and reviewed his drawings.

He was no artist but he needed to appear to be doing _something_ other than ogling his boyfriend.

Stiles could draw caricatures; he might have made a good graffitist too, but with his dad being sheriff, that would be a big _no_.

He turned to the page with his best work so far: large capitals of Derek’s initials, done in an attempt at the illuminated style of ancient manuscripts. He considered re-doing it in markers or colored pencils, eventually. For now it was in No. 2 pencil. Other places on the paper bore _D.H+S.S_ in hearts with a few _Stiles Hale_ and _Derek Stilinski_   inscribed here and there.

"Bilinski!"

Coach Finstock, probably fated to be institutionalized in his old age, currently had an eagle eye and a gadfly’s motivation.

" _What are you doing up there?_ "

"Free period, Coach. Thought I’d enjoy the sunshine." Stiles spoke truth, just not all of it.

Even from his high seat he saw the eye roll. The Coach motioned for Stiles to come down.

"I know I appear boyishly naive but, really, Bilinski, _what are you doing_?"

Stiles could prevaricate as easily as he breathed. "I wanted to switch from shop to art class, but it’s too far into the school year for that.—So I’m… teaching myself how to draw?"

Again Finstock gestured, for Stiles’s pad this time. Stiles was careful to open it to a sketch of runners on the track, an effort from a few days before.

"And you’re inspired by undernourished giraffes?" Finstock asked.

A cluster of runners passed, including Derek. He and Stiles exchanged the briefest of glances, the subtlest of smiles.

Stiles felt like he might shoot into the air hundreds of feet, then gently flutter down.

He took back his pad to find his caricature of Harris, complete with puckered up face, weasel-snout and whiskers. He gave that to the Coach to look at.

"Hm… good likeness," was Finstock’s response.

The Coach handed back the pad and wandered away, blaring random insults and judgments at the players on the field.

Cautiously Stiles returned to the bleachers, sitting not so far up this time, waiting.

When Derek passed again he pressed a hand to his mouth and blew Stiles a kiss.

Heart fluttering, Stiles returned it with both hands and an accompanying "Mwah!"

He’d want that kiss again later on, with less space between them. Preferably no space.

He watched Derek’s buddies and teammates play-punch him as they ran; one even ruffled Derek’s hair.

Love was great. Everybody loved love. Right?

_Wrong_.

Stiles didn’t see Matt Dahler in time to avoid him.

With a camera always hung around his neck Dahler substantiated notions that paparazzi started out as creepers and stalkers. Being asked to join the senior yearbook committee, despite his being a junior, hadn’t helped diminish Dahler’s swollen sense of self-importance either.

"Hello, Dahlly," Stiles liked to greet him. Otherwise he referred to Dahler as "Paparatzo" and sometimes "Paparatshit."

Dahler had mistakenly believed his sneaked photos of Stiles and Derek kissing at their respective vehicles would embarrass Stiles and he was just as wrong to think his shouting, "What are you blackmailing Hale with to make him date you?" was going to bother Stiles now.

"What’s that?" Stiles asked, shaking his pinky finger in his ear as if to clear it as he passed Dahler by. "Must’ve gone deaf to your _obvious_ _envy_ now that _Derek Hale’s_ _my boyfriend!"_

Leaving Dahler behind Stiles passed Lydia Martin _and_ Jackson Whittemore standing together outside an empty classroom. For the past two weeks neither had looked at him without puzzled expressions.

"Sorry, guys! Would love to stay and chat but— _going to meet Derek for lunch!"_ he broadcasted, never even slowing down.

(Stiles had to wonder, though, tending to see him with either Lydia or Danny, was it coincidence that Jackson had an affinity for _both_ his crushes?)

(Well, _ex_ -crushes now.)

Waiting at the Camaro stood Derek, all smiles. They hugged, smooched. Derek had obviously showered after gym and still smelled freshly bathed, the scent at his neck keeping Stiles’s nose stuck there.

They drove to a nearby public green and found a park bench. Derek opened a large paper bag. He didn’t like fast food and Stiles certainly couldn’t afford to eat that for lunch every day, but Derek’s dad loved to cook and always packed his lunch. On that day he’d packed lunch for two.

Stiles bit into his roasted turkey between crusty slices of bread and moaned.

With his mouth full he declared, "I know it’s soon but, please marry me?"

"My dad’s the cook, not me," Derek reminded.

"Yeah, but you’re a great provider!"

Derek blushed.

They enjoyed their sandwiches then Derek revealed the home-baked brownies, for a reprise of Stiles’s moans and praises. And Derek’s blushes.

Returning to school shortly after, Derek asked, "So, want to go out tonight?"

Stiles was learning he was just a boy who could not say no.

Their first date had been meeting at the movies, like good friends—though they’d sat in Derek’s car afterwards and talked a while, also kissed a few times before parting ways.

Their second date, only a few nights ago, had been a quick get together, being a school night. But that one was a make-out session in the Camaro’s backseat. They’d both got to second base.

So their third date would be a real one.

"My aunt and uncle own a restaurant. We’ll get special treatment there," Derek explained, smiling. "And… since it’s a Friday night… maybe we can stay out later and… do something else?"

Did the guy ever stop blushing?

Stiles waggled his eyebrows, leaned over the console and kissed Derek’s flushed cheek, also put a hand between his legs, for a very gentle caress.

"Please don’t give me a boner, Stiles."

"Feels like it’s too late to request that, big guy."

"Don’t make it any worse, I mean."

"OK, getting out now."

They were back in the BHHS student parking lot. Stiles got out of the Camaro but before closing the door leaned in again to say, "I really want to find out exactly how far down all your blushes go, Derek.— _Bye!"_

He floated into school.

The afternoon was a blur. Stiles didn’t even remember taking the biology quiz, though Scott never appeared to hyperventilate during it so Stiles assumed he’d found out the facts he needed to know.

Stiles even got to see Derek again, in history class. But he behaved angelically and so avoided detention from Lord of the Weasels Harris.

On the way home Stiles bought a steak and a potato, both of which he’d prepared to perfection by the time his dad got home.

The week before, on his first date with Derek, Stiles’s leaving for the evening seemed like most Friday nights so the Sheriff had no reason to suspect anything. He’d been at the station the night Stiles met Derek for their second date/heated little get-together. The man still had no idea there’d been any major change in his son’s relationship status.

But _that_ night he’d be home when Derek came to pick up Stiles. It was the moment of truth and Stiles planned to literally butter up his dad.

The Sheriff’s suspicions reached critical mass the instant Stiles set the butter dish on the dinner table, beside the steaming baked potato and the still sizzling steak.

There was not a shred of salad to be seen.

"OK, what have you done, Stiles?" he asked, point blank.

"Nothing! I just—haveadate."

"Really?" The man sounded pleased.

"Yes, a dinner date. So I need to shower and get dressed."

Stiles tried bolting from the kitchen but the Sheriff wanted to know more, of course.

"Who is she? That Martin girl? Finally?"

"’That Martin girl’ shot me down in flames years ago, _Dad_. How do you not know that?"

" _You_ do not tell me anything, _Son._ —So, who is she? Someone new then?"

"Very new.—And not ‘she.’"

The Sheriff’s eyes grew slightly wide. But John Stilinski, Sheriff of Beacon Hills, was a modern father and an evolved human being. He hoped.

Before getting to say another word Stiles cut him off.

"C’mon, Dad. We talked about this. I told you if I ever got to play, I’d play for either team."

"Yes, you did, Son, you did.—So, who is _he_?"

"You’ll meet him. He’ll be here soon. That’s why—can I _please_ go shower and get dressed now?"

"Yes, yes. Go." The Sheriff waved him away and Stiles left so hurriedly there might have been a cloud of dust in his wake.

After showering like a man on fire, Stiles next emptied half his closet with searching for something decent to wear. Entirely by chance he owned a pair of black skinny jeans, which Scott’s mom had bought for Scott but they didn’t fit him so she gave them to Stiles, never realizing she’d actually picked out fashionable men’s wear. They fit Stiles like a dream, too.

The shirt hunt was less encouraging. Stiles regretted, for the moment at least, that the best dressed people he knew were not Stiles-friendly.

He was still buttoning up his shirt when the door bell rang. He didn’t have on shoes yet.

" _Shit!_ " he hissed.

Now his dad would open the door.

" _Shi-it!_ "

He heard his dad’s voice, Derek’s voice.

" _Fuck!_ "

Stiles clattered down the stairs, hoping for the best, only to find his dad looking a little like he’d seen the face of God. Derek looked beautifully flustered.

"Stiles!" his dad all but squeed. "You didn’t say your date was _Derek Hale_."

"Oh. Kay." Stiles responded, not sure what was happening to his father, who was still regarding Derek with stars in his eyes.

"So… I don’t need to introduce you?—But, Derek, this is my father, John.—He’s… the sheriff... usually."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Derek shook the Sheriff’s hand again. John eagerly held on.

"Feel free to call me John, son.— _You_ are one fine athlete."

" _Dad_."

"You’re really dating my son?"

"Oh my god.— _Dad!"_

"Yes, sir." Derek’s blushes were probably achieving transcendental levels. "We’ve only just started… dating."

"Well, you’re welcome to come to dinner any time. _Soon_." His eyes were still fixed on Derek, his smile that of the starstruck.

"Oh my god. _Dad_ —snap out of it!" Stiles had interposed himself between his father and boyfriend.

"We’re leaving now—before I need to call 911," Stiles almost screamed.

"Alright, fine," John said as the two teens got themselves to the door and outside.

"Have a great night, guys!" John blessed from the doorway.

There’d been no issuing of a curfew, no weapons waved around casually.

Stiles took Derek’s elbow to hasten him to the Camaro. "Hurry and let’s get out of here."

Car door slammed shut, "Hit the gas.—Go!" Stiles urged.

"What’s the matter, Stiles?"

"I don’t know who that man was. That was a pod person!"

Derek giggled, "What?—Your dad seems really nice."

"There you go! Case closed. My dad’s suspicious of _everybody_. My dad’s suspicious of _me_.—That person back there, I’ve never met him. You _did_ something to him."

Derek kept giggling. "What are you talking about? He’s—"

"He’s _enamored_.—I think he just gave you _carte blanche_ to debauch me. If we get back and tell him we just got married he’ll probably start handing out cigars to all the neighbors."

"I don’t think you hand out cigars for weddings.—And, I’m not really… a debauching type of person," Derek shyly confessed.

"Is that your final answer?"

"Stiles."

"Well… " Stiles let the pause stretch out just long enough. "I know we both admitted the other night we’ve still got our v-cards.—We could debauch each other?"

Stiles didn’t need to check for the blush; he knew it was there.

After another pause, Stiles continued, "You look really nice." Derek wore black jeans and an aubergine Henley. "Don’t think I didn’t notice the jacket hanging in the back. I don’t need a jacket for this place. Do I?"

"No. It’s casual. I… just wanted to look… nice."

"You do, definitely."

Then Derek surprised Stiles, reaching out to touch his shirt.

"You look nice too." He stroked the soft, horizontally striped and patterned fabric.

"Add a pair of desert boots and black framed glasses and I’m hipster."

"It’s a good look for you."

But the focus on himself triggered Stiles’s reflex to change it. "So… you decide what we’re doing? _After_ dinner?"

Without hesitation Derek answered, "There’s this look-out point, over a lake. A little bit of a ride. But we can see the stars from there."

Stiles wasn’t interested in looking at stars. But if he saw any he'd prefer it be via—well, he had a list.

"And how do you know about this ‘look-out point’?" he asked with intentional insinuation.

Derek confessed, "Oh. I had to drive up there once when my sister’s boyfriend’s car battery died.—So our parents wouldn’t know where she’d been."

"Mm-hm," Stiles sing-songed. "So it _is_ a make-out spot?" He dearly prayed it was.

"Mmm-hmm," Derek confirmed, with a single rise and fall of his spectacular eyebrows.

Stiles steepled his fingers. " _Ex_ -cellent!"

And it _was_ excellent, most excellent indeed.

Not too many days later Derek was presented with Stiles’s first complete work of art: the initials _D.H+S.S._ , writ large and elaborately embellished inside and out with complex figures and filigrees, in multi-color marker pens. Derek had it laminated and hung it inside his hall locker door. Once the school year ended, he hung it over his bed.

Stiles and Derek punched each other’s v-cards on a return visit to the lake look-out where they serendipitously discovered a cozy little motel located conveniently nearby.

The Sheriff _did_ in fact pass out cigars to all the neighbors, everybody at the BHPD as well as anyone else in sight when, six years later, Stiles and Derek announced the date of their wedding.


End file.
